


Misbehavior

by ComeAlongPond14



Series: The Riding Crop [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Floor Sex, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Riding Crops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 05:49:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeAlongPond14/pseuds/ComeAlongPond14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock decides to provoke John into reclaiming his turn with the crop. Greg Lestrade is happy to help this cause.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misbehavior

**Author's Note:**

> Just want to say, I am totally willing to keep this series going if y'all like it, but I am planning to write an AU fic (like, with actual plot. Not just porn. Whut.) that will have multiple chapters, so updates on this one could slow down. Not sure. Just a heads up.

Although there were several more highly enjoyable rounds of play with the riding crop--with Sherlock inevitably taking charge, mostly because John just loved the way he looked when he pinned his doctor to the floor (or the sofa, the mattress, the wall, wherever), and teased him to the point of desperation, before he took him roughly--there was no further mention of inviting anyone to bed with them. John began to wonder if it had been a joke. Though to be fair, he himself had invited Mycroft to come back. So far he hadn’t dropped by, and Sherlock had not mentioned his participation. 

Then came a weekend that was unusually quiet, no cases and nothing really to keep them busy, and Sherlock suggested they go out to a pub. John should have realized the lanky detective had something up his sleeve just by the fact that he initiated the outing, but he was too pleased to question it. He picked one of his favorites, and even convinced Sherlock to order a drink as they sat and talked and laughed, hands occasionally straying under the table, light touches and playful teasing that had John hard as a rock and aching to get home.

As he was paying the tab, he realized that Sherlock was no longer beside him. Scanning the room, he didn’t see his strikingly tall lover, and he wandered outside, beginning to be concerned. Then he caught a soft sound, one he knew well; it was the muffled thunk of a body slamming into a wall, not hard enough to injure, but still forcefully. It was a sound he and Sherlock made often when they came running home on an adrenaline high, desperate to touch one another.

He rounded the corner into the alleyway swiftly, not sure what to expect--and then he stopped dead in his tracks, his brain unable to translate what he was seeing.

It was Sherlock pushed up against the brick wall of the pub, his coat and jacket both pushed open as the man pinning him there roughly fisted his shirt, keeping him trapped as he ravished his mouth with a kiss. Even as John watched in disbelief, the other man reached down, using his knee to shove Sherlock’s thighs apart, and his wandering hand quickly cupped the detective’s obvious erection, rubbing hard. A strangled moan fell from Sherlock, swallowed immediately into the kiss. John’s brain freeze thawed in a rush of fury.

“Oy!”

The kiss was broken roughly, both faces turning towards him. Shock and anger pulsed through John’s veins as he realized that it was Greg Lestrade pinning his lover against the bricks. The DI barely met his gaze, turning away to duck his face into the crook of Sherlock’s neck, teeth closing over the taut cord of his neck, and Sherlock shuddered violently. His gaze stayed locked on John’s, the wanton lust there making John’s own arousal come crashing back through him. He took a tense step forward.

“Sherlock--Greg, what the fuck--!”

Greg drew back from Sherlock’s neck to look at John again, his own eyes hazy with desire. With his face turned, Sherlock dipped forward and began kissing his throat, and at this angle John could perfectly see his detective’s beautiful talented tongue, trailing wetly over the exposed flesh, even as he lifted one hand to begin unbuttoning Greg’s shirt, baring more skin to his exploring lips. The DI was panting hard as he fumbled for something, which he held out to John. With a start, the doctor recognized Sherlock’s riding crop. He stared back at Greg in wonder, beginning to comprehend.

His friend grinned at him wolfishly, his unoccupied hand cupping the back of Sherlock’s head, pressing him closer to encourage his searching kisses and bites. “He said you’d get the message.”

A surge of pure lust fired through John as his mind leapt back to Sherlock’s flushed, smirking face as he’d wryly suggested Greg for their next threeway. He’d hoped his lover had meant it, but he’d never dreamed Sherlock would surprise him again.

He stepped closer, bringing himself within range of Greg’s still-outstretched hand, and grasped the handle of the crop. His eyes flew to Sherlock’s face, which was now turned back toward him, his gaze fixed on John even as he continued to nip and suck at Greg’s throat. John let the sight settle in his imagination, and fireworks went off in his brain.

“Sherlock.” His voice was low and resonant, and he could see the stark need it evoked in both men’s eyes. “I assume you realize that this means it is very, very much my turn.” He let the end of the crop fall to Sherlock’s wrist, nudging the man’s hand until it found the hard curve of Greg’s cock, and the DI moaned appreciatively as Sherlock obeyed his lover’s unspoken command to begin fondling their companion teasingly. “And you are going to be soundly punished for surprising me like this.”

An impish smile crossed Sherlock’s face, and he abruptly slid down the wall, landing on his knees. As both men above him sucked in shocked breaths, he raised a hand to both their cocks, squeezing lightly through their trousers. His gaze remained fixed on John’s face. “I rather thought you were enjoying my little treat, John.”

It was hard to find the words for a coherent sentence. Aggressively John whipped the crop up, pressing the strap hard against Sherlock’s windpipe, and he savored the way the detective’s pupils dilated at the pressure. “I didn’t say I wasn’t enjoying it. But you let me think you were misbehaving for a moment.”

Sherlock’s grin could not have been more feral, or more absolutely fuck-all sexy. “Oh, I am misbehaving, John.” He leaned forward then, ignoring the crop, and rubbed his face carefully over the prominent shape of John’s erection. Groaning breathlessly, the doctor grabbed a handful of that beautiful dark hair, shoving against his lover’s open mouth, longing to thrust his cock down his throat and erase that damned smirk. Sherlock’s voice was faint with desire. “And I aim to misbehave some more.”

“John--” Greg’s voice was hoarse was arousal as Sherlock continued to stroke him masterfully. “Are we--we going to do this in an alleyway?”

Lucidity returned for a brief moment. John looked between his kneeling lover, compliant and ready, and their guest, who looked ready to combust. He laughed helplessly. “No. Let’s get a cab to Baker Street. That way you can strip him naked and punish his misbehaving arse for me.”

Sherlock’s groan of anticipation was enough to prove the value of this plan.

* * *

The three men kept composure long enough to get inside 221B, and then the charade was abandoned. As soon as the door closed, John struck the back of Sherlock’s knees with the crop, and the detective obediently dropped to the floor, shrugging off his coat and jacket and gazing up at them expectantly. 

Tugging off his jacket and undoing his shirt, John sank into his armchair, keeping his eyes fixed on the kneeling man as he addressed the DI. “Greg, would you like anything? Tea, or...?”

His friend snorted with laughter, tossing his own coat over the sofa. “No, thanks, John. What do you want me to do to him?”

John’s gaze flicked to him speculatively. “You’d be willing to follow my directions?” He raised the riding crop, tracing his fingers over the well-worn leather, watching Sherlock’s eyes track the motion of his hand.

Greg crossed to him, dropping to a crouch beside him, which brought him close to eye-level with Sherlock, who still knelt by the coffee table. “Of course. He’s yours, I’m just lucky to have been invited along for the ride.”

John reached a hand over to caress Greg’s face lightly, feeling the day-old stubble, seeing the pleasure flicker across his friend’s face at the gentle touch. “You’ve always wanted a shot at him, though, haven’t you?”

He saw the slight smirk on Sherlock’s face, and he suddenly realized the parallel they were in: Sherlock had brought Mycroft in to satisfy his desire for John, and to assert himself over John. Now it was John’s turn, to take what he wanted, and to give a covetous outsider a taste of what the consultant detective and his lover shared. He was liking this arrangement.

Greg licked his lips, shooting a hungry glance at the quietly kneeling man. “I won’t deny that.”

John smiled, leaning back. “Then let’s play.” He studied Sherlock critically. “Sherlock, come to Lestrade.”

The detective seemed to understand his situational inferiority from the authority in his lover’s voice, and he obediently dropped onto his hands and knees and crawled forward, coming to rest with his head hung, his neck relaxed, between Greg’s spread knees. The DI inhaled sharply, and John smiled broadly. “Would you like to undress him for me?”

Greg nodded eagerly, keeping his balance as his hands slid along Sherlock’s chest and stomach, opening the buttons of his shirt. The detective kept his head down, shifting just enough to allow the sleeves to be pulled free. Greg reached lower, unbuckling his belt and opening his trousers, then paused, glancing back at John. “Can we leave them on for now? Just let his prick out?”

John grinned at him, liking his bluntness. “Of course.” He pressed a hand over his aching cock as Greg drew Sherlock’s hard-on from his trousers--stubborn man still refused to wear pants--and both men sighed as Sherlock groaned at the light stroking, arching his hips needfully into Gregs’s touch. John swung the crop up and around, letting it strike his lover’s wiry shoulders sharply. The cry that slipped from Sherlock went straight to his prick, and his voice was hoarser than he’d intended. “Don’t move, luv. Greg gets to play, not you.”

Sherlock nodded mutely, and Lestrade suddenly sat back, his eyes lit with excitement. “Oh, that is gorgeous, John. Can I--could I restrain him?”

John laughed out loud, reaching to stroke a loving hand through Greg’s short hair. “Oh, God, yes. Have you got anything?”

The DI jumped up, going to rummage through his coat, and returned with a pair of steel handcuffs, lined with leather. “When he told me what he wanted for tonight, I thought it was better to be safe than sorry.”

John snorted, reaching out to nudge Sherlock’s leaking cock with his bare foot, eliciting a desperate groan from the huddled man. “Cheeky bastard. So certain I’d go along with it.”

Sherlock’s eyes darted to his and back down, but John saw the smug look on his face. He growled, jerking his head at Greg, who instantly resumed his prior crouching position, reaching around to cuff Sherlock’s wrists securely together. “There we are. God, he’s a pretty picture like this.”

“Yes, he is,” John murmured. “Do us a favor, Greg--grab that hair, jerk him down so he can worship your cock a bit, for me. I think our boy needs to learn a little humility right now.”

Greg looked like Christmas had come early. “Couldn’t agree more.” His fingers threaded into Sherlock’s hair, and he dragged him down, leaving Sherlock’s weight balanced awkwardly on his knees, and Greg’s lap. He didn’t fight, though, opening his mouth to caress Greg’s cock through his trousers, tonguing the thick fabric until he’d left a nice dark wet patch.

Watching Greg enjoying his lover’s mouth, John grew impossibly harder. He reached out, cupping Greg’s jaw, and turned his face to kiss him. Their first kiss was incredibly tender, given the circumstances, gentle searching and timid exploration as their tongues slid smoothly against one another, and John moaned into the kiss as he felt Greg’s hand wrap around his clothed cock, stroking him gently.

When they broke apart, they found Sherlock peering up at them with blatant want in his eyes. John chuckled, not even angered that he had stopped without permission. John stood, moving to stand behind Sherlock as both men waited for his next move. He ran his hands over the crop again, loving the supple movement of the leather. “Greg...would you like him to suck you off properly?”

The DI’s hand closed over the moist spot over his crotch. “Hell, yes, I would.” At John’s nod, he opened his trousers and freed his cock, holding it for Sherlock. John noted with contentment that Greg was good and thick, which meant he’d likely make Sherlock gag--a sound that John loved to hear. He let the crop fall, striking very lightly against the detective’s pale shoulders, watching him shudder. “Get to it, luv.”

With no hesitation, the detective sank forward, engulfing Greg’s cock. He went as far as he could on his first try, and sure enough, a muffled choking sound slipped from him. As he slid back up, saliva dribbled from his lips along the shaft, and Greg reached down, lightly smearing it over himself. His other hand reached beneath Sherlock, pinching and twisting his nipples, making the detective’s hips jerk wantonly. John grinned, reaching out to grasp Sherlock by the hair, pushing him down hard, listening to him gag hard on the intrusion. “That’s in, luv, take it all. I want you to suck him off. I want you to suck him till he cums, then swallow every drop, you understand?”

Sherlock nodded around his mouthful, gasping for air when John finally let him up to breathe, and Greg pumped his cock a few times, sighing blissfully as Sherlock dropped to take him in again, managing to go all the way down this time, his nose brushing the light dusting of hair at the DI’s groin. Greg let out a breathy laugh. “Jesus, John, you are one lucky bastard.”

John stepped to the side, trailing the crop up and down his lover’s back as he watched him move. “I know I am,” he said with a light smile. He moaned softly as Greg reached out, gently cupping his erection through the denim of his jeans. John pulled down the zipper, freeing himself to Greg’s touch. Glancing down, he found Sherlock’s eyes fixed on him peripherally, and a soft sound of pleasure slipped from him, watching his detective’s mouth work up and down that beautiful cock while feeling a warm hand stroke his own. He could feel the tension building in the base of his spine, and knew Greg was getting there as well, in the way his hand on John’s cock was shaking. Beneath them, Sherlock’s hips rocked side to side, his fingers clenching uselessly on air as he sought friction.

Suddenly he was on fire, needing to be inside the man he loved. Gently stepping away from Greg, he dropped the crop and moved behind Sherlock, kneeling to tug his trousers open and down his hips, leaving them twisted around his knees. Sherlock moaned at the cool air, the sound lost in vibration around Greg’s cock, and with that the DI let out a soft cry, thrusting hard into Sherlock’s throat as he came, the detective faithfully swallowing it all down. John watched this beautiful exchange even as he lubed up his fingers, then worked Sherlock’s hole carefully open, loving the way his muscles clenched around John and draw to pull him in further. 

“Ready for me, luv?” he asked softly, smiling warmly at Greg as he dropped down to sit beside them, cleaned up and his trousers refastened. At Sherlock’s needy groan, John sat back on his haunches, hauling the handcuffed man back onto his lap. Sherlock let out the most animalistic, beautiful sound of pleasure John had ever heard as he sank down onto John’s cock, and then the sound broke off in a whimper as Greg suddenly leaned over him, taking his straining cock in hand, and gathering the dripping pre-cum on his tongue. Still stroking Sherlock, Greg leaned up on his knees to kiss John over the detective’s shoulder, feeding him the flavor of his lover as he thrust inside him.

John was in heaven. Sherlock’s tight heat around his cock, handcuffed arms flung back around his neck as Greg went back to work sucking him off--he wasn’t going to last. “I’m almost...there...” he gasped out, and both men made noises of affirmation. Greg quickened the pace of his ministrations, and Sherlock cried out both their names (and what sounded like a few profanities) as he came, spilling across Greg’s hand and his own thighs. The delicious subsequent clenching of his muscles around John were enough to bring him to climax, and he groaned Sherlock’s name lovingly as he filled him, falling back in exhaustion as his orgasm receded.

After a few moments of panting, Sherlock suddenly mumbled, “Ngh--cuffs. Hurting.”

“Oh! Right, sorry, mate,” Greg said, grabbing the keys and helping Sherlock sit up to free him. Immediately the detective slumped sideways, John’s cock slipping from his body as he did. Smiling at them both, Greg slowly sank onto his back on the floor between them, waiting for them to catch their breaths.

John rolled over to curl up against Greg’s side, throwing one arm over his chest to poke Sherlock. In responsive, the detective tucked himself close to Greg as well, propped on one elbow. The two kissed above him, and the DI chuckled as his hands wandered up over their backs, savoring the smooth feel of bare skin.

They lay there awhile, until a growl from John’s stomach prompted them to get slowly to their feet, laughing and bantering contentedly, all three together. As they sat down to eat, Greg glanced back and forth between, and finally asked the million dollar question. “So, will we get to repeat this? No joke, fellas, that’s the best shag I’ve had in ages.”

Sherlock smirked proudly, and John kicked him affectionately under the table as he replied, “I can’t imagine I could stop him. He’s hell bent on exploring, it seems.” Leaning over, he kissed Greg gently on the lips, tasting tea and jam and something distinctly Greg Lestrade. “Besides which, of course, I would love it.”

Sherlock leaned back in his chair, gazing at the other two thoughtfully. “Perhaps we should add even more variables,” he said with a wicked gleam in his eye. When they looked at him in confusion, he smirked. “Well, I know of a few people who wouldn’t mind a go at all three of us....Molly Hooper, for one...”

Greg choked on his sip of tea, but John wasn’t truthfully all that surprised. He knew Sherlock wasn’t bored with him, or unwilling to settle for monogamy. He also knew he’d never be able to honestly say he wasn’t loving these little trysts. So, having fun adding to Greg’s absolute shock, he said cheerfully, “Oh, that could work--and maybe even bring Mycroft back and make it a proper orgy.”

Cheeky as ever, Sherlock pressed the point further. “Bet we could even get him to bring along his assistant, Anthea, wasn’t it?”

Greg interjected, sounding strangled. “Let’s just start off easy, shall we?”

John and Sherlock both laughed, and John settled back in his seat, wondering how on earth this had become his “normal” life. As Sherlock offered to proposition Molly on his next visit to Bart’s (Greg was not actually saying no, Sherlock reasoned), John sipped his tea, imagining the fun and mischief he and his mad lover(s) had ahead of them.


End file.
